Ice Cream?

Ice cream, as spelt erroneously on the door, in Edwardian script, at my local café.

Gran Familia Restaurant

The Gran Familia Chinese restaurant is on Avenida Antonio Dominguez, in close proximity to the little café Epoca I've been frequenting for breakfast.

I arrived at Gran Familia at about seven thirty last night. Although I'd have preferred to be seated indoors, the only available table was outside.

It was really quite busy and the staff were working hard to serve, take orders and attend to diners generally.

Shortly after I sat down, an older couple arrived and took the table a few feet away. They were chain smokers and unfortunately (for me) the smoke wafted in my direction.

The lady ate and held her cigarette in the other hand, in fact!

My starter of spring rolls was good: tasty, crispy outside, and a moist filling.

I usually have the standard Chinese fare of chicken or prawns in sweet & sour sauce, Peking sauce, or even Szechuan sauce though, on this occasion I was slightly more adventurous.

I ordered crispy duck in mango sauce, with egg fried rice.

When it arrived, the duck was neatly sliced in bite-size pieces on a platter.

The rice, of course, arrived separately.

This helping was large; too big for me, indeed. It was easily enough for two, I should think.

The meat was very lean and tender; the sauce, mild and subtle with the mango slices.

The duck cost €14.75.

I was annoyed that I couldn't finish the meal. I must have eaten about two thirds of it.

They did ask me if I wished to take it away, though.

The staff brought me a complimentary glass of Irish Cream liqueur before I settled the bill, about €24.

BST

The clocks go forward one hour in the Canary Islands tonight, in line with British Summer Time, presumably.

Indian Palace Restaurant

I felt like an Indian meal last night and the Indian Palace, at Avenida Noelia Afonso, happened to be within five minutes' walk of my accommodation.

It was about seven thirty and I'd already had the customary restorative, viz. the Tanqueray.

The Indian Palace is not suitable for those who are unable to climb a flight of stairs, because this establishment is about twenty feet above street level.

There was only one other person in the restaurant when I darkened their door, a girl who was preoccupied on her mobile phone.

I chose a table and was brought their menu. Incidentally, all the tables have a bottle of red wine, which is taken away when patrons are seated; a minor idiosyncrasy perhaps.

Initially I ordered a fizzy orange, though quickly changed my mind when I noticed that they had Lassi, so I opted for the mango lassi.

Thereafter the predictable chutneys and chapati arrived, followed closely by my lassi, which I did enjoy.

It was slightly akin to a yoghurt drink, I imagine.

As usual, I had onion bhajis as a starter. Although I scoffed them down swiftly enough - I was hungry - they lacked flavour or spiciness; and that's coming from somebody who generally prefers their Asian cuisine on the mild side.

They looked rather lonely, devoid of a garnish, too.

If there's one dish I am well acquainted with, it has to be Chicken Korma and pilau rice.

This came with the peschwari naan bread that I'd ordered.

The Indian Palace's naan was thin and crispy; so thin, in fact, that it's a wonder they managed to squeeze any sultanas in!

I wonder if it had been kept heated in the oven for too long. I prefer my naan hot and moist, twice as thick as this one, filled more generously with dried fruit and almond or whatever.

And the Korma? Well, the chicken pieces and the rice were good enough.

The sauce, however, which is so fundamental, was bland. Before all you aficionados and connoisseurs of Indian cuisine insist that korma sauce is bland, this one was blander still.

Even Tesco's standard korma has more depth of flavour than the Indian Palace, alas.

It was all perfectly acceptable, though not my greatest Indian feast.

The bill was about €20.

Vegas Style

Is it a tourist Mecca in Las Vegas, Nevada?

Well, no, it's now the base for the popular Hard Rock Café in Tenerife.

There was a queue when I passed by last night at about eight-thirty.

Most of the burgers cost just under €15.

Mamma Rosa

I forgot to bring the iPad with me last night so, I'm afraid, no photographs at all of my meal at the long-established Mamma Rosa restaurant.

Mamma Rosa is located at Avenida Santiago Puig, in central Playa de Las Americas.

It's actually set off the street itself, at the side almost.

I used to dine here with my dear parents. The service and food were both of a very good standard.

I'm glad to apprise you that little has changed, in that sense. I was greeted like an old friend, which is always flattering.

I was shown to a small circular table, fitted with linen tablecloth and napkin.

I suppose Mamma Rosa is essentially Italian in character, though it's eclectic and caters for most tastes.

Another trick the head waiter had was to ask me, at the outset, whether I'd like an aperitif, suggesting Dubonnet, Martini Bianco of Campari.

I succumbed and had a Martini, which was served in a tumbler with ice, cherries, lemon and orange slices.

For my first course I had the smoked salmon with a mustard sauce, chives, tomato, and toast.

I'd already been brought a warm bread roll with butter. I requested alioli and this was purveyed shortly.

I ordered one of their signature dishes, the fillet of beef Rossini, with fois gras, in a rich port wine sauce, with a medley of vegetables.

It was an impressive piece of meat, cooked medium-rare, I'd say; perhaps one and a half inches thick.

The Belmont Number One Nose-Bag was earning its keep all right, and my prowess as a hearty trencherman was affirmed (!).

I skipped dessert; requested the bill; and this came with a large shot of some sweet, chilled, sickly liqueur.

Having settled the €36, I bade Mamma farewell.

The Caricaturist

I went for a stroll last night, towards one of the opulent shopping centres at sea-level.

Outside, the caricaturist whose work I've been admiring for many years, had set up his stall.

It was about eight o'clock. He brings everything with him: stools, easel, drawing chalk, lamp with battery, rubber etc.

It didn't take long for him to get his first customers, a young couple with their relatives (I presume).

This artist is an experienced and skilful proponent of his trade. 

I've observed his technique, which has remained unchanged for twenty years; the way he gets his subject to look at a point beyond him, by gesticulating with his fingers.

His fee is €12 for black and white; €15 for colour.

I wonder of he recognises me. He looks round occasionally to see who's about.

This fellow still has a good head of hair (alas, mine left me ages ago), though it's now cut shorter and grey.